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Tourney Arena

The Capitol is the heart of the Aether Kingdom. The place wherein the current king/queen is resided with his/her councilmen, under the roof of the King's Castle. Other establishments of the land are Markets, Taverns, Treasury, Tourney Arena, etc.

The Tourney Arena is a place for knights to battle for contests for prizes and glory.

Upon arriving at the Capitol, Natalya gained permission from her brother to have time alone and explore the landmarks seeing that she needed not to concern herself with paying respect to the king. With the help of her handmaiden, she changed clothes into a more... common fabric. Best to keep a low profile, not that she was afraid of being robbed or taken hostage knowing clearly that she can take good care of herself, but it would draw less unwanted attention. She donned a dark blue dress falling below her knees -- their sides split to provide comfort in moving, where she wore black trousers tucked in by brown boots of felt leather, a black stays laced up the front and its sleeves were short due to her intolerance for the Capitol's weather. Needless to say, her clothes was efficient enough to hide a handful of blades up her legs. Koshechka chose to follow, of course. The large feline has taken surprised and frightened look as she passed through the crowd. All to which she absorbed in much felicity.

They had found the smithy, the best place Natalya would prefer in this land. But soon enough after the blacksmith's suggestion and careful instruction, they have found the tourney arena to which she pressed interest in.

A petty circle was in action for that day -- less than a hundred. The king or other lords are nowhere to be found in the arena so the gamblers settled on those who are punished to die-- murderers, rapists, thieves of the five kingdoms. Most of them looked lanky and feeble - grown weak with their time in the dungeons. Nothing but fools sentenced to die with their sins. A disgrace to human kind.

Seeing as this serves a good chance to pass time as well as to steam rage, Natalya signed up to the admission. "I am a shield-maiden." She says with much conviction. No one will recognize her here, she barely went to the Capitol. The last time she did was when she was seven. She may not be the best warrior and would have her life at risk if faced with a legitimate knight but these morons wouldn't stand a chance against her. They are lower than dirt itself, and she practically forced their family's best smith to teach her how to use a long sword and throw daggers in secrecy that even her brother did not know. Only the three of them knew, including Koshechka. 'It would be most useful, to defend myself, the Lady of Dvorets Black.' she told him.

Partly it was to defend, the other intentions are to maim and injure by choice. Still, the smith had no other option with the request of a high born. She was a quick learner. Even so, she practiced through the cold nights in secret for five years which also sparked her fascination with knives.

"You can bet against me, if you find me unfitting. Still, you will have your coin. Let me join." The administrator groaned but eventually let her do as she wishes.

Everyone rooted against her, of course. How can a woman defend herself against a man, despite how frail and gutless he is? She's a woman!Half of the audience placed their bets. Those who paid for the acclaimed rapist across the stadium paid at least thrice the value than those who sided with her. She cared not. What her goal was to kill. To kill this man in cold blood who violated a civilian's life. It seemed more heroic than murderous in this angle. At least it eased any hint of guilt.

The horn was soon heard and Koshechka watched her master throw a blade the moment her opponent ran with his spear to meet her. Nine steps in and a knife was planted deep through his chest. He dropped to the ground face first like a rock, which only deepened the cut of the steel until she could practically see the tip of it through his flesh. 'That was Silny's iron that ran through your ribs. It is meant to be light, and fast. But of course you underestimated me.' She thought before walking over to flip the corpse and pull the bloodied blade off the man. "You don't deserve this blade." Natalya scoffed, returning to her side of the arena to ready herself for the next challenger."I may be weak, but this is just plain pathetic." She groaned, wiping the blood from her dagger with a spare cloth.

The crowd that gathered in the Tourney Arena was a noisy lot, loud as they cheered and taunted. The intriguing noise was enough to attract Ser Alfred. The air seemd a lot more hyped than typical. Of course Alfred would be able to distinguish it. He frequent gambling there himself. He only wondered what differed that day.

As he arrived on horseback, the spectators stepped aside to make way for the lionized knight. Being on that height allowed him to see the exposition. There was a dead man on the ground, being pulled away by two people. It left a nasty trail of blood on the dusty ground. 'So they're fighting 'til the death again,' Alfred thought. There was no need to go to such extents in his perspective, though some claim it more merciful. Alfred did not blame them. Pain and dishonor was an unfavorable combination.

There was disquiet and excitement among the crowd. He could hear complaints and disbelieving remarks, claiming that there must be some sort of sorcery or ill-faithful tactic brought into play. Some, pure admiration.

He looked closer into the picture. There, in the circle, standing alone and victorious, was a woman he did not recognize. In her hand she held a knife and a bloody cloth she wiped it with. A woman... A woman won the match. It was almost unbelievable. But her eyes, her stance--she had danger written all over her. Alfred had keen eyes for great fighters. He had keen eyes for great beauty. If he had seen such nonpareil beauty in The Capitol before, he would have been sure to have taken note of it. It led him to wonder just who she was.

His horse suddenly jolted, making him hold tighter on the reins. "Whoa, boy. Calm down!" The stallion panicked in sight of the white tigress. He tried to steer him away from it before he could lose balance and make a fool of himself in front of these people. The weight of the armor he wore was certainly of no help.

_________________The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage.

The girl scoffed, glaring at the crowd. "Sore losers," she muttered. "You get what you pay for."

Despite being in an arena surrounded by dirt ground and even dirtier people, her sophistication never faltered. Her back never arched, and her chin failed to lower. There was yelling and complaining from those who decided to bet against her, but Natalya walked past it to her station. Supposedly, the next match should be more difficult than the first but given the racks of players she's placed against, it was a doubtful notion.

Koshechka audibly growled from where she was seated, developing a distaste from the sudden disturbance of the stranger and his horse. But the stallion's unsteady cries were louder. It was enough to steal Natalya's attention, to turn her head their way and see what the fuss is all about.

"Send in the next," She told the announcer before walking to her companion and retrieve two more blades that she tucked it in her sheathes from the dozen plain ones that they purchased earlier from the smith. Best to pile with more weapons if this would get difficult now that the arena has seen what she could do. "Easy, girl." She assured Koshechka after re-arming. "You are stronger than any horses in this city, and even they know it themselves. Bid me a couple more rounds." Her northern accent was indeed perceptible, if in any way her pale face would not give away that she's from foreign lands.'Stronger than any wolves or lions, as well' Natalya thought, frowning on how infested this city is with other houses.

Lilac eyes flickered to catch a glimpse at the knight on the mount. A golden knight, probably one of the famed Golden Fleece the singers would oft sing about. Still, she cared not to learn the face or name of the reputable Lord Commander even if a lady from a regal family should. "You dare don the golden cloak when you can't even keep your stallion in line." Natalya commented before the horn sounded that summoned her back to the arena for the next opponent.

From the shadows appeared a bald, brawny man about twice her size. The grip around her blade tightened, scanning him from head to toe -- searching for a weak spot. Men as such are usually slow, which gave her enough advantage to slit his throat before he could land a muscle on her. The arena began placing their bets. The Lady of Dvorets waited for the next sound of the horn before the attack.

Unfortunately, Alfred was too preoccupied to think of a retort. "This is your pet?" He said as he struggled to gain control of the stallion. He managed to revert his horse back to its former state as he steered away from the tigress that frightened his mount. The feline did not bother him for he could sense it was a tamed by a master. He knew. He dealt with lions before.

The lady was already back in the circle by the time he dismounted. Her opponent's build was rather impressive, however, incisively judging it from his point of view, the man was no great fighter. Alfred walked up front, as closest he could get without crossing the circle. The woman was small in stature compared to her company. With a body that slim, she should avoid being confronted with strength. She looked smart. There is danger in a smart opponent. The way she held her knives and the blood stains on her dress proved she was no innocent fighter. He could smell the blood-thirst from her just by looking at her face.

He produced a few golden coins from his pouch and let them slip through his fingers as he handed them to the one who organized the wagers. "Ten golden wolves--that girl wins." Despite what the crowd had seen, too few had betted in her favor. This was lucrative business. His gold coins were the only ones among the pile of silvers. His confidence in gambling came from the trusting his judgement, and it told him that she would win. It should not fail him.

His eyes were careful upon her every subtle move, learning the way she attacked and defended herself. He looked for strong and weak points alike, impressed by what he saw. He was suddenly interested in testing her capabilities. "Wait--" And then she slit his throat, mercilessly. Killing one's opponent should be optional. This woman was ruthless. But even so, she gained a new admirer.

Alfred was the first to express his awe, cheering and clapping his hands.

_________________The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage.

She was evasive, indeed. Possibly the quickest one this scum called crowd has ever seen, considering they're all too poor to actually afford to watch a real battle on the likes of knights and decent assassins. It was far too easy to slip through his landing punches like water on his fingers. After a handful attempts of his punches, she finally found a good spot to kiss his throat with her blade. At least he lasted longer than the first one.

Blood squirted from his flesh, too fast for her to cover the distance she can evade. It managed to splatter on her hair and face. The color red standing out against her flawless pale skin. On the bright side, she didn't shower with the blood of a low rank.

Her nose wrinkled from the smell of copper and rust too close to her senses. It sent both pleasure and nausea to cause such event. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. The game felt neither right nor wrong, but it made her feel invigorated to slay outlaws sentenced to die quickly for their sake. And if she was lucky, she'd be able to kill those who raped and murdered women to disgrace their death in the hands of another herself. It wasn't exactly uncommon to gather corpses from tourneys after all. There is no dishonor in this game... just guilt.

'Another mad Czar', she could already imagine them say if they had the slightest idea on who she is. 'They deserve it. They deserve to die-- all of them' Natalya thought in part of convincing herself.

He was quick to be handed his wins, but he hardly paid mind to the gold. He found another one far more worthy of his attention. It was then that he knew that he was desperate to know her name. Chances like these do not come very often.

There was skepticism in the pool of fighters as to whom shall fight her next. The young knight for a moment averted his eyes from the girl and looked at the faces of the ragged men. None of them seemed fit to match her. Walking over to the lot, Alfred placed his hand on the shoulder of one of them. "Worry not," he told. "I'll do it." All this he said with a smug grin on his face. Anything to satisfy his interests.

He jumped over the fence, walking over to her in a manner too casual to be deemed appropriate. "Hello," he said with a charming grin. His lack of fear was nothing compared to the curiosity the fueled him. The crowd wanted a show, and he wanted to see her up close. The people started to stir, loud cheers were amongst them. They knew who Alfred Atherton was. In his mind he thought they would all bet in his favor. He was not Lord Commander for no reason at all.

"You don't look like you're from here." He tilted his head to the side. He started stripping himself of all the heavy armor, tugging at the straps to loosen them. It would not be a fair fight if he skipped this step; a sword against daggers was a huge lack of symmetry enough. "Tell me where you're from." He stepped out of the gold armor, almost vulnerable in a leather vest and breeches.

_________________The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage.

The stranger's voice snapped her out of her daze. She didn't realize that she's been staring at the pool of blood until her next opponent began conversing. "If it isn't the half-wit knight..." She mused, shaking off the distractions clouding in her head. 'A knight of the king--' Natalya learned, clenching her jaws. To say she's agitated was true. But the girl is a feisty one, definitely. It would take more than that for her to bend and break.

To his inquiry, she kept a sealed mouth. Her identity remained a secret, as if she'd reveal else she'd have her brother in rage. This was supposed to be a practice field for her, not a precarious battle. But then again, maybe the fleece would serve as a good training for her skills. No matter how moderate they are, faced with an elite fighter.

"Ser," as if to humor his noble status, Natalya curtsied. Right foot behind her left, bent knees, hands on her skirt, straightened back and her chin held high after the graceful bow. It wasn't those of the commoner's foolish curtsy, one could see. It was those of trained and studied for decades to perfect. She should have made a sloppy one, if she was smart enough to cover her tracks. But the amusement to ridicule him blinded her. A corrosive laugh was elicited amongst the silence of the circle. The blood on her certainly wasn't helpful. She then drew another blade to occupy both of her hands -- she'll need it more now than before. Now what's left is for the horn to start the fight officially.

She was grace and beauty, yet lethal to the touch. Such a thing made him feel more inclined to do so.

She was a highborn, most likely. How else could she have afforded such training. There was nothing so common about her. She owned all the components it would take to fascinate a man like Alfred. "I prefer being associated with the word gallant. Or handsome. Being called a half-wit simply does not bring justice to my name."

He did not see heroism in her glare. His lady was not the kind to serve for the safety of the public, might she only be doing this for her own gain. Her laughter sent him swallowing a lump in his throat. "Lovely," he muttered, bowing in front of her like a proper lord, mirroring her own actions that was meant to disparage him in front of the watching crowd. "My lady." His lips grew into a smirk. They did not meet in the field to exchange courtesies. But what harm can it do--might as well just do it. He found it quite entertaining.

"Will you kill me today?" He asked. "Is my fate tied to your blade?" He adjusted the weight of his longsword on his hand, raising it in front of him. He would be a tough opponent for her to kill, that he hoped she knew. "If I win, will you tell me your name?" It was no more than a game to him, but he was only eager to defeat her. If failed to do so, he might lose his own life. Might it be because of youthful reasoning, but Alfred thought the risk was worth her name.

_________________The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage.

It was quick to have her smile fade when he followed her lead with a bow. It was supposed to be an insult to his... gallantry, in case he missed it. Maybe he was more foolish that she expected.

Deep within her wits, she knew fighting him head on is suicide but her pride wouldn't allow the notion of quitting. What are the chances for a girl who may be an expert in hand blades to slit the throat of a man wielding a long sword? His steel would impale her first before she could even land a scratch. Not only in a matter of weapon was her disadvantage, as well as her skill and size. Given that she may be quicker, it still wouldn't make a difference. The odds are too little on her side. Still, she remained stubborn and blinded by her drive to win.

"I take all my chances." A second he will let his guard down, her blade will be on his throat without hesitation. Best to be on his defenses at all times. What honor it would be to kill a Fleece? The king must arrange the burial at once. "Your existence does not interest me at all. Why would you think I would be in debt to provide you information?"

Natalya frowned, drawing her most precious blade to use instead of a plain one. It was made from the north itself. The steel as black as a raven with a grip made of silver. The fuller was encrypted with silver symbols, a sapphire crystal on the center of the guard and the head of a tiger on its pommel. It was evidently lighter than the others, and on this case she needed all the advantage she could afford. Nothing but her best weapon to butcher a high profiled knight.

"Shall we make it short and sweet? If you're a lady like I suspect, it would not be long before I learn your name. But I'd rather hear it from your own voice." With a charming smile, Alfred motioned at her blade. "Lovely knife," he commented. "One that would fit the status of a lady." If only he was close enough, he might be able to at least narrow down the mystery by looking at the symbols embossed. Though she may be from the northern region, judging from her accent and her pale complexion. 'Why must northerners be so cold?' Alfred thought.

He wasn't so discreet about his fascination. He worried more about her name and status than the melee itself. "You're pretty," he commented, having the grace to wink at her direction, wondering if it would have any effect on her. "I don't want to leave marks on my lady's skin. It wouldn't be too chivalrous of me." And he thought how should he win a match without hurting his opponent. Obviously he did not think this through. But somehow in some way, Alfred would find resolve even if he acted on impulse.

And enough was enough when the horn boomed. He tightened his grip on his sword, waiting for her make the first offense. Short and sweet it should be.

_________________The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage.

"Long and painful," She disagrees. "Stolen... From men I killed. You're next to give up that majestic sword." As long as he would not see the symbols of tigers all over the blade and pommel, her house would be safe. Still, a part of her whispered it was a dumb to put it out on the first place. It screamed Czars all over it -- the best iron and smith, intricate design on blades and the snow white tiger of their house. Too late to hide it now. Best to just win this battle before he could even steal a glance at it. "I'm not a lady. Sorry to disappoint you, ser."

His flirting made her shiver, disgusted by everything that he does. Who does she think he is? Such a boastful man to think he is some king. His mere breathing repulsed her, what more for their skin to meet? Thankfully, the horn sounded loud enough for the entire arena to hear. It stopped her effectively from the urge to throw out.

Counting every second as the most precious, the belle began to take the first move. With a powerful throw, she sent a plain knife from one hand to his direction. The sharp edge slicing through the wind -- thirsting for his skin.

A fighter is most alert during the first seconds of battle--at least, it was true on his case. His skills neither faltered nor betrayed him during those critical moments. He deflected it with sword on midair, sending it to fall on the dust before it could reach his skin. She would resort to propelled weapons at most, he guessed. Would be a disadvantage to him, aware of the shorter range of his weapon of choice.

"Try again, my lady." Alfred kicked the knife, sending it back to her, as if to taunt her.It landed near her feet. If she would look up at him, she would see an undaunted smile on his face. He wanted to see more.

_________________The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage.

Natalya hissed, gripping her blade tighter. The girl didn't expect her first try to slice through him, but it did give her what she wanted. It gave her enough stats to study his movement. Swift enough, yes. And strong, too. Moving out of instinct like all good fighters would.She eyed the knife that he sent her in full disdain, clearly not appreciating how he's being so damn arrogant. Against her own pride, she picked it up begrudgingly. The only way she could win is by outsmarting him, to which she hoped she had the upper hand. Distraction would be the key to separate him from his instincts, it appears.

"I'm sorry, ser." She moved sideways, as if to study other angles of him. "Hmm..." Natalya smirked, squinting her eyes at him. "Indeed a handsome knight, I hate to admit. Shame to put a scar on that face... Or would it make you look tougher? More... manlier? Isn't it that how it works for the ladies, ser?" Her eyes fluttered before smiling at him, taking more steps around the knight. "Certainly I do not mind them... No, not at all."

Of course she was bluffing. As if she'd fall for another man. Most certainly, this man of all the five kingdoms.

The moment she'd found the perfect timing, the blade came rushing at him again. But this time, they were the two of them -- the second was drawn from her skirt. If there was time to deflect one, the other would follow. And before it even reached him, Natalya followed suit -- flinging her body at her best speed to fight physically while two of the knives bought her time. Roaring, she crouched under him and forced her special blade through the skin of his thigh. Then as quickly as she could, Natalya pumped her weight with her legs backwards to propel her from him and cover as much as distance to keep her safe.

Hopefully, Alfred wouldn't come after her-- because she knew well that distance would be an important key for her survival with the disadvantage of his long sword.

His ears was all hers when she started to speak to him. He followed her with his careful gaze, knowing any moment the attack that he would expect would come into action. "I think I have enough scars already, I'm afraid I have to refuse your suggestion." Alfred's cheerful face turned stern. Any moment from now...

And so that moment came. Sharp blades came flying to his direction, two instead of one. Alfred had time to swat one with his sword blade, the other ripping his shirt and tearing the skin on his arm when he tried to move out of harm's way. The wound was not deep enough for Alfred to feel any pain, but thin trickles of blood were running down his arm.

But alas, she was not done yet. Nimble on her feet, the lady managed to wound him on his thigh—such a defect would diminish his effectiveness especially on movement. But the body was kindled with fuel that quickened his pulse, giving him just enough power to resist pain temporarily. His blood sprinkled the dusty soil.

There were elicited wails and shouts from the spectating crowd. He never liked being shamed in the eyes of the people that cheered his own name. It was time to vie for what he wanted.

"Good arm. Nimble feet. Is there nothing you can do?" He projected a grin toward her direction as he picked up a bloody knife left abandoned—should come in handy. "I'm impressed." He swung his sword in front of him, the point directed at her. "If you won't tell me your name, I'll at least make this day memorable for you... Remember me, will you?" It should not come so appalling that he had such nerve to speak.

And before his energy could wear out, he started to move in offense, sprinting toward her. With a swift swing of a sword, Alfred aimed low, hitting her with the sharp end on her leg. He aimed for her boot, as to most of the damage would be on the leather and less on her skin. He used the momentary advantage to kick her knee from behind, sending her to meet the ground.

Alfred raised his sword.

((kindly move out of the way, please. Also im sorry. You said I could bruise or wound her so..))

_________________The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage.

Soon enough, he came for offense. His sword began to follow her, to which she tried best to deflect but her sheer force caved in. Even if her metal is stronger, it still remained on the power of the one who wields the blade.

She felt the cold metal rip through her boot, then her skin as quickly as a blink of an eye. It wasn't as deep as the one she caused, but a person not used to being soaked in blood wasn't exactly helpful for the situation. And before she could even recover from the attack, the next thing she knew was she's thrown to the dirt.

Natalya's eyes widened in horror for what was coming next. But instead of freezing, her instincts snapped best to roll out of the way. His sword pummeled to the ground, digging its way through the earth just a few inches from her head. The belle gasped in surprise, eyeing his sword before looking up to meet his face. The look of betrayal clear on her image, eyes wide and mouth agape. Although it was reasonable for her to anticipate it, half of her expected that he wouldn't plan to kill her. Heavily bruise, maybe, but not to plunge his sword through her skull. That is, if he was smart enough to suspect that she is a high born-- therefore an essential profile in all kingdoms. The kind who are always being guarded in all days and nights, not to be killed in a petty tourney arena without a honorable death... Unless he wanted his head on a pike for all the North to see.It may be her unfair expectation, but she's a lady and he's a knight. No matter how regal his status could be, even if a member of the Fleece. He's a knight without powerful family to back him once sworn to the hood, unlike her status with the name, power, and wealth. He's only with a sword and the duty to protect the king even as the kingdom's most noble position as a knight. Nothing more.

Her astonishment quickly diverted into anger. A rage much worse than before, given the reason that he tried to kill her. Given the distance opportunity, she drove her precious knife into his calf without hesitation before crawling from under him and getting back to her feet. The silver-black blade stuck out from his flesh, forgotten about how important it was to her. All it mattered now is to win this match and kill him.

She searched her sheathes under her skirt. Three of them empty, and two still stacked.

Last two.

Ignoring the pang of pain beginning to crawl in her muscles, she gripped the last two of her blades with one in each hands.

It came expected. The weight of the sword seemed to be heavier this time despite it being forged in accord with the balance he preferred; a clear reminder that this temporary surge of power would wear out soon enough.

It barely missed her. Consequently, the surprise and the provoked rage was evident on her pretty face. Nothing like a little flex of a muscle to honey the fight. "Memorable, like I told," he muttered to himself. It would be an undesirable tragedy to have himself accountable for her death, not when he had no clear verification of her identity. Such skill and beauty would be put to waste.

He could hardly distinguish the line between recklessness and shrewdness when weilding a sword and faced with a threat. The knight acted upon instinct, knowing that his opponent would not be killed that easily. It was a gamble with hardly any basis. But so far so good. No one was dead yet.

However it was becoming increasingly difficult to act on judgement instead of mere instinct. Once the body senses peril, it would as if move on its own in defense. In that particular case, he might end up harming her worse than planned--

Alfred cursed loudly at the kiss of pain.

He took the knife from his flesh before it caused more unwanted sensations. There was more blood loss and he could do nothing to stop it. He held the knife on his hand, his blood running over the sigil embossed on it. "Czar," he breathed. He looked at her, seeing her in lethal position. Curse this.

Alfred strapped the knife unsheated on his belt, grabbing his sword with both hands and charging after her. One swift strike and he could drive the sword point in her chest, but the lad knew that was no way to win a woman's heart. He slashed the sword in front of her, only hitting air. With the dull side of his sword, he hit her across the stomach as he ran pass her. He only needed to find out how to win without hurting her too much.

_________________The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage.

Last edited by SA18LockDragon on Thu 14 May 2015, 17:42; edited 1 time in total

He was stalling. That much, she could sense. It's like he wasn't even trying, despite being wounded worse than her. But before she could react, she was hit again that knocked the air out of her. It caused her to crouch, but her legs did their best not to cave in.

Natalya gasped for air, returning her composure once again. The sword was a large disadvantage, she could see. It still wouldn't be a fair fight for her if it was rid of, but it would lessen her chances of dying. And staying alive after this match sounded like a luxury she can barely afford.

"Truth be told, I am expecting you to be on your knees right now." She breathed out, knowing that he's now aware of her origin. It may not be a clear image of being a member actually within the royal family, but it was enough of a gist of her importance. For all she expected him to know, the silver locked belle before him could possibly be the first or distant cousin of the main branch. So many other possibilities, but being the Lady of Dvorets is one of them. Best he would conclude wisely.

In another attempt of offense, she hastily ran towards him. This time, ducking all his attempts to injure her with his sword. It was moderately easy for the belle, but that of course, is because he's holding back. Ever since this match began, he has been. Natalya was fortunate enough to gain close range, face to face with him as if they were dancing. She blocked his sword with her arm, cutting through the flesh. It wasn't exactly the most pleasant sensation ever but it was what is needed to relieve her from the sword. Without much her attention, tears were shed from the corner of her eyes in pain. Better her arm than her skull. Biting her lower lip through the pain, her other hand then moved to plunge the knife next to the handle of the sword, ripping through the skin of his hand.

"I'll save my courtesies for tonight." Panting, Alfred regarded her with careful observation. The Czars of the north were renowned for their rather humorless approach, but nonetheless regarded with respect. The hardest of places did not just breed the hardest of people, but also the most beautiful of women. Alfred may just be another fallen victim to their charms—that or his mere frivolous nature. "Do save me a dance, my lady," he said, knowing a woman of her status would be invited to the king's ball. Having to kiss blades was a rather bizarre way of meeting, Alfred did not know what kind of consequences this would lead him to.

But then she started to charge against him again. It was sloppy of him to allow himself to fall into another of her tactics but he was growing blind of the situation. The pain was beginning to multiply. Again, Alfred cursed, his hand loosening on the sword as she stabbed him, letting the blade fall useless on the ground. There was no time to retrieve it.

Waiting no longer, the knight did not let the lady out his range. With a quick movement, his good hand seized her by the arm, pulling her hastily toward him. He gripped her wrist with the other hand, getting his blood over skin. If only she would not resist, but he did not expect the proud Czar to submit. His grip allowed him to get her to let go of one knife, nearly breaking her joint in the process. Of course the exerted force hurt his wound as well. But he must bear with it for a little while longer.

He wanted to lock her in his arms and secure his victory. But had another knife to worry about. He ducked, hitting her lower back with his elbow. The hit was not strong enough to have her incapacitated, but it should be enough to hurt and bruise and have him gain temporary advantage. He stopped at a safe distance from her, standing there as he caught his breath. "Come here..." He breathed. Hopefully this would have a happy ending.

_________________The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage.

"Even if I leave this place with a corpse, I still wouldn't give a knight, such as you, the pleasure." She growled when the sword was dropped. Her lip dripping with blood after biting so hard to contain her cries. It may seem like it was her chance, but Alfred was quicker to grab her wrist and twist it painfully. Natalya tugged her arm free... No use.

She let out a burst of scream to the air, feeling the pain of his grip and her own wound kill her arm. His blood trickled on her skin and down to mix with her own bloody arm as if it was a pact. Both of their blades covered in red and lying on the dirt. But only with excruciating pain she has never felt before.

With what of her wits, she attempted to drive her other knife into his side but only to fail. The next hit sent her on the ground, feeling nothing but the screaming pain of her right arm. All she could hear was her heart beat echoing despite the cheers of the crowds and Alfred's taunts for at least half a minute long. Natalya is bleeding. Natalya is in crucial pain. But despite it all, she's alive. Even if it was her worst state ever being in.

It may seem like it was the right time to finally declare the winner, but before the herald could even blow his horn, she pushed her weight with her good arm to crawl back to her feet. Slowly and weakly, but still managing to survive. The bloody blade lying on the ground was picked up, albeit feebly. Then she took small steps towards him - cradling her damaged arm. "Not yet, ser." She choaked out, closing the distance between them.

Alfred stood his ground as he watched her with waiting eyes, half-hoping that she would remain on the ground until the fight was officially declared an end. She did try to come at him like he asked, but the throbbing pain was starting to demand attention. Every subtle movement was twisting agony. But he had to resist the urge to rest, at least for now.

He hoped she would not stand, but there she was trudging over to him. She was hurt, it was evident. It brought him no joy to hear her screams or watch her suffer. Truth be told, he did not think this was the end meant for him when he made yet another youthful decision to fight her. His lips parted to speak, but he closed them again, knowing his words would weigh nothing on her. Nothing he would say would influence her decision.

It would be... humiliating... for others to witness the act of surrendering worse than being seen defeated. Alfred would not easily give up either, but he wanted her to. At least save themselves from further harm. If he surrendered for her to win, she would take that as derogatory. Better end it the best way he knew how.

He stood his ground, waiting for her. He made no notions of advancing or defending. He was struck wordless, with concern embedded on his face.

_________________The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage.

Natalya screamed, with her blade directed at him -- slicing through the air. It was without power or speed she could not afford, unlike her first attempts. Still, she continued to attack with her blade again and again despite easily deflecting and avoiding them.

Her eyes burned with anger and pain. Hatred and agony. All of which a warrior is so often to see in the souls of his enemies the moment before their deaths. "I was doing my own business, and you bothered me..." She growled, three feet from him before swinging another lame attempt of her knife once again - aiming for his head. "-- what do you wish to gain from this?! Gold?! Fame?! My own death-- for your own entertainment?!! Natalya gasped for air. Flinching for a second because of her badly injured arm. The massive wound was six inches long, at least an inch deep. Enough to gash so much bloodloss from her. "Tell me, so you can have it ten times fold. TELL ME!!!" The platinum blonde cried, continuing to swing her blade to at least cut him once more for her own revenge.

He took a step back, limping, more wary for own health than his safety. After it all she was reduced to this. He dodged every attempt to cut him with her knife. It was easy enough, but his body ached. One leg was in severe pain.

"You can't force yourself in battle without accepting the possibility of defeat," he told her with a voice softer than usual. It was a painful sight to see but one he must bear. He took another shaky step back as she closed in. Sweat was dripping down on his eyes, making it harder to focus. This must end soon, for his sake and hers. "A reward--I want a reward." Not gold, not fame, not pleasure--something she could easily give but would not.

"Stop," he muttered. "Enough... That's enough, my lady." Rolling up his sleeve, he offered his twitchy hand to her, one she already wounded. Alfred did not know what he would accomplish by doing so. If she needed to hurt him one more time, he could give her that luxury. The fault was within him after all. And so he challenged her. "One cut along the pulse will be the end of me."

_________________The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage.

"The possibility of my defeat -- that would give you the pleasure?" She scoffed, wiping the blood from her lips with the back of her hand. It only caused it to smudge against her pale skin, too evident to miss. "I am not blind, ser. I knew the moment you stepped in the ring that you would have the upper hand. And I know that you'd expect yourself to be winning from me, too." Natalya forced a smirk, containing a hiss due to the pain.

Was she swallowing her pride? Maybe, or maybe not. Despite being a knight of a high rank, Alfred owns one of the merciful heart she's ever seen in the realm. It may be only because she's handsome or of a high profile, but she doubted him to be as cruel as the other fleece. It was obvious on how he worried for her safety when it would be so easy to knock her out and send her to the king to settle everything. Or worse, to the lord of the North himself. He may be a fool, but he doesn't seem the type of warrior who is inhumane. And what more to burden him by pressing all the blames on him?

"But still, you had to step in... Don't you?" For a moment, she stopped attacking. But that didn't mean that she would let go of her blade. "I want you to look me in the eyes and remember this, Ser. You knew you would win -- you're one of the few fucking dogs only best trained to protect your fucking king. You knew it from the start, and you had the choice to stop it from happening but you're too much of a dolt to join me. You had the choice, before I did. And you chose this." Every word was spoken in so much hatred and intensity, repeated again and again to nail the idea of it in his brain to last for a long time. The northerners are barely believed to own a soul -- being so cold and heartless. Even the Czars, most of all. And if she couldn't win by force, then she could crush his heart into crumbles in her own palm. Words can break a person longer than wounds, they say. Time to put that into test.

Natalya reached out to grab his arm, never breaking her gaze into his eyes. "If for a split second you would feel guilty that you felt no delight in seeing me wounded and battered on the ground, remember that you had the choice to avoid it from happening." Slowly, she pressed the sharp edge of the blade on his wrist. It began to tear through his flesh, dripping blood to the hollow ground. But instead of slicing horizontally to cut his vein and stop his pulse, the metal climbed upwards to impose a gash running down his arm. "If my face and my own blood wakes you in the middle of the night while you sleep peacefully, be reminded that you have all the rights in the realms to feel shamed. I am not going to kill you this easily, ser. Where's the fun in that?"

He would like to think that the choice was beyond him, but that would be a flimsy remark. He stepped inside the field with a youthful heart, brave and bold. Though there might a fraction of his discretion horribly disfigured, his only excuse was the boisterousness and sense of adventure of his nature. For a man like Alfred, being hurt was no excuse to back down or hesistate to take what he could. Even to die was no cause to fear. Sadly, and most unfortunately, she could not share this ideology with him. And the result: guilt.

There was no glory winning from a battle like this. He took no interest in gold or glory when he first stepped foot inside the ring. His only want was to see her up close, possibly strike a conversation, at most learn her name. But for what--all he did was harm her in the process. What kind of hero was he to hurt young ladies for no justifiable reason but to satisfy his curiosity. He did not challenge her with the desire for her friendship in mind.

"I thought you're a fighter." He felt the sharp slice on up his arm, but it was as if she was not even trying. "Why did you come here if you're so afraid to shed blood? So you come here loathing me for doing what was meant to be done in the arena?" Alfred paused, stifling a regretful sigh. "My apologies won't do me any good at this rate. So I say we should end this." He reached to wipe off the blood from her lips. "If you're interested in winning, I suggest you claim your victory... my lady." And like a humble knight, Alfred knelt down on one knee with his head bowed. He was at his most vulnerable state.

_________________The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage.